


Confessio Serius

by animalboything



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Angst, First Time, Homosexuality, M/M, Multi, Romance, Slash, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animalboything/pseuds/animalboything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Love this old story that I dug out of LJ because, well, I love Reever. And writing weird, experimental stuff. Enjoy. :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Confessio Serius

**Author's Note:**

> Love this old story that I dug out of LJ because, well, I love Reever. And writing weird, experimental stuff. Enjoy. :)

So call me the resident pervert of the Science Department if you fancy, not as if any of the others don't have quirks for fantasies; give me a break. You've got Johnny whose fetishes for robots nearly matches that of the Super's, Topp who likes his giant women meters high or macho as could be -- maybe both, and Russell's playboy fantasies complete with smoking jacket and harem of young, busty women on the beach. I abhor robots with a passion, women with muscle twice the side of my head frighten me, and I don't care to smoke, nor would I care for said harem of scantily clod females. 

No.

Unlike the boys, I've got a bit of a difference in terms of kink, something I never cared to bring up for the seven years I've been at the order. Here's a hint: it can involve lace, uses the word women, and it's lingerie. That was three hints, even.

Cross-dressing? Not quite. Enjoying the feel of something soft and fairly snug against my genital regions? Yes. So what makes that deviant to the boxers and briefs my mates sport? It's not as if I intend to show them to anyone, and the few dates I've managed to go on, for ninety-four-percent of them, I sported boxer-briefs - grey, black, white, green, and blue: never red.

So yeah, a lot of straight guys enjoy cross dressing (again, doesn't anyone get that this isn't quite such? We won't bring up the Komurin 2... 3... whatever incident), what's the big deal? Maybe it's the fact that this one doesn't fancy ladies. 

There it is, the honest truth: Reever Wenhamm, Head of the Black Order's Science Department, is Gay. 

So good for me, right? Show the world those geeks aren't always in love with their chemistry or experiments or mecha-gone-wrong, but excelled in Felatio 101 up through the 400-levels, and know the difference between giving and receiving; not to boast, but I was always considered the best pupil. Practice makes perfect, eh?

Well, that's the theory, but I've been single for a while and being a slut? No thank you. The pickings would be slim at the Order -- who's going to up and announce, "Hey guys! I'm a homo!" That'd be broadcast all the way to the Asia branch. Probably General Cross would even hear about it. You'd be walking down the street and crowds would separate, heads turning to point at the queer. Taunts and leers would be thrown, maybe your face smashed against a brick wall - that's not exactly my definition of a good time, and so to the world I am Reever Wenhamm, twenty-six-year-old, Australian, superb at physics, chemistry, and linguistics, and did we mention always single?

For a cover-up, the science field's a perfect place to be though with the workload sometimes I wonder whether it would have been better to follow my gut instinct and become a teacher or private investigator - I'd take on Sherlock Holmes any day of the week. 

But also, stuck with long hours, there's little chance to meet anyone of that variant. 

I had something. Once. Nothing serious - only two years. 

... and I utterly hope that my sarcasm was obvious in the last sentiment. 

I was twenty, just having been in the order for a year, when he divorced his wife, or rather she divorced him, and for his sake I'm providing anonymity.

He came into work bedraggled, eyes red-rimmed, clearly non-functional as he spilled his coffee over several charts he was to go over, and actually complimented the boss-man. He was my senior advisor, and I offered to cover his shift which, later, I realized was a triple. One night, one day, then the last night... my eyes were rimmed red with exhaustion as I slumped over his desk, hair – chin length then – fallen around my face rather than how I'd style it up. I must have fallen asleep because I woke up to him standing behind me, hands massaging my shoulders, thumbs kneading the tension out of my neck. My tie was loosened, top button undone, lab coat discarded before I sat upright and turned, receiving a kiss without so much invitation. 

I didn't even get a moment to ask what he was thinking before my pants and underwear, light satin that day, pooled around my ankles. My shirt was partly undone, my hands gripping the edge of his desk as he fucked the hell out of me. He was nice enough to let me cum first on the horizontal grains of the desk, him following a few thrusts afterward before lying on my back, arms encircling my stomach.

"How about some coffee?" he asked. "You don't drink, right?"

That was how it started between Russell and I.

... and there goes his anonymity; sorry, mate.

Guess it doesn't matter since we broke up two years later when I was, shockingly, promoted by Supervisor Komui Lee to Head of the Science Department instead of him, Peter, Juan, or any of the other eligible senior members. I was blamed for using him - something I never did, mind you - and was promptly told that he wasn't in love with me. That I deserved someone who was in love with me. Nice while it lasted, but no more.

Four years later, and I haven't had a lover since, boyfriend -- whichever. I've gone through a lot of bottles of lubricant, and certainly became more creative but that spark wasn't there. I wasn't avidly looking, and so the hormones died for some time, a quelled interest. A few parties at the department came and went, outings where I wouldn’t drink, awkward, but steadily improving relations with Russell were had – but being the one sober guy there was just lame, so to speak.

It was always in the interest of not being interested that people seem to find the one who steals their heart – I was no exception to the list though it took so long to process what was directly in front of me. For years, he’d been there: a sight for sorry eyes, a listening ear, a man passionate about everything he did, avid interest taken in everything. 

It was sweet.

It was endearing.

It was adorable. You know, cute?

… and he was straight.

Only when I walked in on him making out with a girl I knew all too well, her leg lifted and hooked over his hip, back pressed to the wall as he pinned her in place with his form did I feel the stab of pain, something I couldn’t understand. 

Anger, sadness, isolation, loneliness, jealousy…

I learned later that was called heartbreak. 

But my job isn’t to have emotions. My job isn’t to have interpersonal relations. My job isn’t to seduce. My job is to be stoic and smile as needed, to give advise on relationships I would know nothing about, to listen to tales of sexual escapades, to envision the things so clearly that he would partake in, to remember each detail succinctly so that I might go to my room, lubricant in hand, legs spread as I pressed fingers inside me again and again, coming until I was milked dry, eyes rimmed red from the tears I would shed.

I wonder if I’m the only man who cries when he orgasms.

One month. Two months. Seven months. A year. A year and five days.

Gerry made ice cream for everyone; he had a sundae, I had a lemon soda, taste for adventure anywhere but here. 

“So, I really like her.”

“Seems that way.”

“No, I mean, really.”

“Oh? That’s good.”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I was thinking… I mean…” A garnished stick of pocky was pulled from the savory treat and placed between his lips, teeth holding it in place.

He raised his eyes to mine, stick rising up in the air before his lips moved. “What would you think if I were to secretly elope?”

Again, the anvil heart fell.

“If it makes you happy,” I replied: five words too simple, five words to resign, and five words to say goodbye.

A beaming smile came to his face as he clapped a hand hard on my shoulder. “Thank you,” he laughed. “You’re the best, seriously.” In a rare moment where I couldn’t smile, the soda was brought to my face – sip, and nod. 

So, on my first day off since God-knew-when, he brought me with him to look at rings: Gold or silver? White gold? Diamonds? Amethyst encrusted, or emerald? What about sapphire? No, pearl. If you were getting married, what would you want?

I wanted platinum. I wanted diamond with the smallest encrust of deep emerald and jade. Maybe a hint of blue. 

We laughed as I spilled my heart’s desires on the table, watching the exchange of money as the jeweler took order – come back in a few hours, he said. 

He went to the barber, wanted to look nice even though I said he always looked more than just fine. We ate lunch on him, steak knives slicing through thick slabs of meat, spices pleasing our palates – he drank ale, and I, soda. It was the happiest I’d been in months, certainly; I felt as if I were the one marrying him rather than her. Even when picking up the ring, when asked where he should do the deed, where I’d want to be proposed to were I female, were I in her shoes. 

We walked to the edge of the floating island and sat down, legs on the overhang. Swinging to bump our heels against the siding, small bits of crystal fell from the grain. 

“Beautiful night, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah. Couldn’t be better.”

“Here’s the perfect spot? Really?”

“Could you beat a view like this? And even being close to home would have its perks – you’d be able to tell people right away.”

“But what if she says no?”

“She won’t. No one would say no to you.”

A hand moved to his pocket, small velvet case withdrawn and opened as he gazed at it, star-diamond, he called it. I held my breathe in longing, a sweet anticipation but it never came. The box was merely shut and tucked into the inside of his coat pocket.

“Thanks, Reever. You’re a great friend, one of the best, really. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“What I’m… looking for?” I didn’t understand as I lifted my head to keep eye contact as he rose to his feet.

“You’re deserve to have someone special. I’m sure you’ll find her.” A thin smile graced his lips, arms stretching upward, hands linking behind his head. “So, wish me luck, right?”

“You’ll be perfect.” You are perfect.

I rose to my feet but wasn’t aware of the motion, nor the clammy hand clasped in mine for a brief moment as we shook hands. Side by side, we walked into the building before he waved his hand, face alit as she came into his visage.

“Hey, come on. Let’s go star gazing,” he called, her hand seizing in the same hand that shook mine.

I had to know.

My bedroom’s at the top of HQ, something utterly small with many things lacking, but the most impressive part was the roof-overhang outside my window. The glass was pulled up, my head ducked, and I crawled through the box. One foot set upon the roof, then another as I walked to the edge and looked down.

They held hands and laughed, the shortness of something exchanged before the jacket was opened. A hand disappeared into his coat before he dropped to his knee, hand extended. Audio wasn’t necessary, though even if I could hear what was occurring below I doubt I would have been able to process it over the thud of my heart, the sensory of conversations past. 

What would you want if it were you? You deserve it. What if I were to secretly elope? I love her. I love her so much. I hope you get what you’re looking for. Where would you want to be proposed? Just live out your dream through her. Learn and let live. I love her. You’re a friend. I’m not in love with you. I don’t love you.

Sleeping on roofs was something I did as a boy with my younger brother, Mathieu, before my sister, Susan, was born. We’d gaze at the stars – I’d talk about theory basic, what little I knew, and name each constellation, offering theory and mythology, legend; my brother, as little brothers often did, wanted to learn more, wanted to follow my footsteps and so soon we both read the same books, studying each moment we could in every field. We did this until we reached high school, my brother going into sports beyond surfing along the coast – football (European, to distinguish – I believe most Americans refer to it as soccer), rugby, cricket, but not polo: we could never afford a pony nor the equipment for polo etiquette.

Sleeping on roofs was something that I did in youth for pleasure; that night I slept on the roof in sorrow.

Work is always endless in the Science Department due to our field of expertise and a lack of organization from our supervisor. Still, despite the mounds of paperwork and clean up post experimental mishaps in the labs, on occasion we get ahead of schedule or are given the luxury of a light day. 

Johnny was challenging everyone in sight to games of chess, laughing maniacally as his hand hit the timer – two-minutes on the clock and counting down: he rarely lost. The sight was always comical to see the youth at his prime, skull tee shirts and shorts serving as sinister pleasure. 

“Johnny, you look like a pirate reject,” I called from my desk, slouched, hands linked behind my head. 

“Aha, Leader Reever, you say that in jest for no one can sport a skull shirt like—CHECK MATE!”

“My, my, we’re unstoppable today, aren’t we?” I laughed. Really, I couldn’t ask for a better team, as nerdy and geeky as they can be it’s where I belong. A place of solace, the department was where I could work, and not be judged for who I am.

“It’s nice when the work’s going well, isn’t it, Leader Reever?” Russell asked as he walked behind me, a hand patting my back once and briefly before that same hand grabbed a chair and pulled it cattycorner to my desk.

“Closest thing to a vacation I’ve had in awhile.”

“Didn’t you have a day off recently?”

“Ah, yeah. That was nice.”

Maybe I said the wrong thing, or maybe there was a tone in my voice that Russell didn’t like. Maybe there was something else.

“Was it really?” Russell asked, voice lowering, eyebrows knitted with worry. “… how are you doing with it?”

“-it?”

Again, the low tone, though accompanied with a sympathetic sigh. “The up-and-coming wedding, are you okay with it?”

I was speechless. Before I could open my mouth to protest, to say I was happy, that I was supportive, that I cared, it came once more. 

“I know, Reev,” a name shortening the man hadn’t used in years. “Trust me, I know.”

“How?” I asked, careful as ever. It was dangerous ground to tread, especially with my staff not thirty meters away, but they were preoccupied with something: chess, backgammon, experiments, pornography leaflets…

“You look worse than you did since I called it off,” he answered simply, perhaps regretfully.

“I never tried to steal your-”

“I wasn’t trying to accuse you, and you don’t need to change the subject,” he stated firmly. “I just wanted to know how you were doing with it.”

“Truthfully?”

“Truthfully.”

“I feel like I want to kill myself-”

“WAAAAHHHHH~ LEADER REEVER’S SUICIDAL?!?!?!? I CANNOT ALLOW THIS! I CANNOT ALLOW MY DEAREST HEAD OF THE SCIENCE DEPARTMENT TO COLLAPSE!”

The term “overdramatic” would accompany Supervisor Komui like the plague, and the man had an uncanny ability to arrive at the most inconvenient of times. Arms encircled my neck, my windpipe tightening with the stronghold of embrace. “Never! Never! Never! Never!” he reiterated continuously. “I won’t allow it! I’ll never allow it!”

By now, my team had surrounded my desk in absolute horror, the tittering chatter weaving between them as I was drug out from my seat.

“We never knew our Leader was suicidal!” Topp cried out, a hand moving to his forehead. “Oh, how ignorant we’ve been!”

“It must have been so obvious too,” Johnny added mournfully. “All day long he’s been sitting at his desk doing nothing but work.”

“Can’t—breathe—”

“This absolutely cannot be allowed! From now on, you will be supervised at work by yours truly! And, in order to observe, I must pass off that topical paperwork – it would distract me from Leader Reever’s pain!”

“… as if that’s your true motive,” Reever barely got out, an arm swinging back as he elbowed the man in the side and pulled from him. “Dear Lord, Supervisor, can you possibly get any more annoying? It’s getting old.”

“You don’t need to get like that, Leader Reever, not after all the concern I have for you.” Fingers pressed together, a continuous tapping as the man seemed to observe them, lower lip jutting forth. “It’s not like I’m obsessing over nonsense things. Your concern is of the utmost priority to me. It’s why I thought that I could help in getting you a boyfriend.”

My heart stopped – of that, I’m certain, for there was no sound. My vision distorted, a fuzziness emerging before it became all too clear: shock and disgust were present among my staff, the only exception being Russell’s expression – guilt?

“You see, I was talking with Russell and he was saying that you were having a hard time, that you should start going out again. Naturally, I’d be the best choice because of how dashingly handsome, smart, and wonderful I am, but I don’t go that way. But Russell said he thought he’d be able to help me find your type – dominant, sweet, kind…”

It couldn’t be.

My stomach clenched, nausea coming hand-in-hand with my pallid complexion.

It was a lie.

Russell would never betray me like this, not to the Supervisor, not to my team – he’d know better than to do that. 

“What?” Komui asked, blinking as he turned to the stares around him. “You didn’t know Leader Reever was gay?”

Which came first – the throwing up, or fainting?

I wish I never came to because blinking into focus as I lay on my back on a hospital cot with my team surrounding me was the worst thing that could have happened. “He’s conscious again,” Johnny called.

“Leader Reever, are you all right?” Topp asked as I braced two hands down and sat upright. 

“Think nothing of it. Just asleep; how long was I out for?”

“A good hour. You broke into a dry sweat; we were really worried.” Again, a guarded tone. I didn’t like it, not at all.

“So… it’s true then, isn’t it?” Johnny asked; I didn’t reply. “It’s… I mean, it’s fine. We think it’s cool, right guys?”

“Ah! Right! Right, of course!” Juan said, a hand pressing to the mass of short, slicked hair. “I mean, we can still work under you.”

“But not in that sort of under-you way,” Peter added, a poor attempt at a joke to which the others laughed.

I didn’t laugh.

“So maybe you and Gerry can go out. I mean, he’s obviously that way, and so are you,” Joseph commented, faux-thoughtful.

“You could get a lab coat to match his apron!” Topp cried out with enthusiasm to another round of laughter.

“Yeah, I’m sure if you asked nicely, he’d toss your salad!”

That’s the way it would be from then on.

“Reev, I’m sorry-” Russell tried to apologize a month later, but I was deaf to him. Russell couldn’t be forgiven. I wouldn’t forgive him.

Call me an asshole for ignoring the principle of forgive and forget, but everything changed from that moment. The dining hall became awkward at lunch, the scientists taking care to either sit with me and hold conversation that was utterly forced or a lame excuse would be offered with dismissal. 

I started to eat at my desk or in the labs; sometimes the Supervisor would join me. Bless him for being the one I trusted not to see me as a separate entity just because of what I’d stick my dick in or what I’d put my mouth on. Never did he bring up that day – he talked to me as if I were a human, as if nothing changed. But, after all, taboo meets taboo’s end.

Even if he weren’t in love with the most forbidden flower, I still think he would have been accepting: it was just who the man was.

There would be a pretty wedding on the shore, another suggestion I offered when asked. Tables were set, flowers adorning a white sand. The second of July.

"Hey Reever!" 

"Oh. Hey. Excited?" I asked, voice neutral - better than not amused.

"You have no idea. God, I'm so... I'm so lucky. I mean, she's a Godsend, loves me more than anyone, and I her. It's just... God, it's perfect." He offered me a faint smile. "It's thanks to you. I couldn't have done it without your help."

"You could have, but it was my pleasure."

He frowned at me then, a silence passing between us. "It must be hard on you."

I was silent.

He knew?

Did Russell-

"It must be hard seeing me getting married, seeing a bunch of us dating when you're alone..."

... or maybe not.

"I mean... I guess I can't even relate. I was lucky. But Reever.... you should be happy. You deserve it."

"I'm content."

"Maybe there's a guy here-"

"I would have heard about it by now," I replied dryly. "Look... it's fine. You should be happy; you're getting married tomorrow. Why worry about me?" It was hard, but I gave a smile, closed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. 

He smiled.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked earnestly, pain stricken, pacing before me in a tuxedo. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know…”

“All this time!”

“No, I-”

“You never told me. God, Reever, I — fuck. You could have told me. Did you think I wouldn’t listen? Did you think I wouldn’t… God. Don’t you understand? It’s too late now. You should have told me.”

"And what would you have done differently?" 

Silence.

The self-defeatist I always was sighed, "Go to the altar. Go take her hand. Exchange your vows. Get married. Have lots of kids. Have your house in the country. Go have the life you want; it's in your grasp! What I want -- that's insignificant."

"Reever-"

"Go," I bid.

The man sighed. "But... this was supposed to be your wedding, wasn't it?"

The bells rang, and I sat in a seat. She walked the aisle, and put her hands in his. The service was recited in Latin and Chinese. 

Wedding bands were exchanged, lips met, and it was over.

I wasn't one to throw rice, nor did I attempt to catch the garter. I didn't raise champagne to toast, but stuck to my lemon cola. I avoided the dance floor, busying myself anytime I thought I spied someone's eyes on me. And, once the newly weds left the floor to consummate their marriage so did I vanish.

The last chapter wasn't to come to a finish; the protagonist was supposed to pull through but that was a book that wouldn't apply to me because I'm a man. Because I was born with the same chromosomes as the one I fell in love with. Because sodomy was dubbed a sin punishable by imprisonment. Because I'm considered a freak.

So call me the resident pervert of the Science Department, young, blond, and gay. Maybe you'll see me jacking off late night in the office to his photograph, one in a tuxedo, or one of his youth when I first became aware of my love for him, but hopefully not. Don't be surprised if you see me with company, paying a boy ten shillings for the night, weeping when it was just before daybreak and they would leave me alone on the bed, my wrists often red beneath the bangles from rope burn. Say that it can't end this way, that he'd come around though now we rarely speak, that he's bustling about wanting children with her. Tell me how I can change what occurred, change my future, because that is impossible. Impossible, no way.

You see, only women get their happy endings in this sort of tale. Do you understand that only straight men get their beautiful bride in this sort of fable?

Twenty-six years old, and my story is complete - longing, aching, ill, and in love. The autobiography of Reever Wenhamm is closed now; there is no happy end.


End file.
